


Keeping a cool head

by qkind



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Affection, M/M, don't look too hard to find a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 14:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qkind/pseuds/qkind
Summary: They have their own ways to show affection.





	Keeping a cool head

**Author's Note:**

> this is all the fault of this [gifset](http://maqqneto.tumblr.com/post/160406480511/scofields-look-at-how-they-comfort-each)
> 
> that's it

1.

 

Leonard Snart doesn’t like being in prison.

 

Sure, nobody actually _likes_ being in prison, but at times like this some people thrive, others die, and he does neither. He obviously knew prison riots happened, but knowing and living through one are totally different things.

 

He’s no stranger to violence. He enforces it when he has to, and he has to in his line of work. No, what he can’t stand is not the fighting, or the pain. It’s the unpredictability. He likes being in control, knowing what’s going to happen at all times, that’s why he plans for every contingency. Daddy comes drunk? He gets a black eye, expected. He breaks into a Santini warehouse? He’s not stupid, he knows there are consequences, and he’ll take them. But rioting, this he could certainly do without.

 

He keeps his back to the wall, inside his cell. He hopes the shadows make him go unnoticed by the bloodthirsty mob outside in the hall. He can admit in his own head that he’s not as calm as he’d like to be, even if he’ll never say it out loud. And the worst of all? Mick’s out there, has been since the first punch was thrown.

 

It seems like the chaos runs for hours, but his internal clock tells him it has barely been twenty minutes before the guards storm the hall and the prisoners who can retreat to their cells while the others are taken away to the medical wing. The cell doors close, and Mick hasn’t come back.

 

 

Len’s lying on the top bunk, eyes closed but alert, when two pairs of footsteps make their approach. The guard buzzes Mick in, and then they’re alone. He opens his eyes and swings his legs over the bed, jumping down so he’s standing in front of Mick. His eyebrow’s busted, and his jaw’s beginning to show one hell of a bruise, but his eyes aren’t clouded with pain.

 

Mick’s hands come up to Len’s shoulders, and Len startles against his better judgment. 

 

“You alright?” Len’s flinch doesn’t deter Mick, more like the opposite. The grasp he has on his shoulders tightens, before he releases all pressure at once to smooth his hands down his arms and back up again, up his neck until he’s brushing against the short strands of his hair and staying there, a reassuring warmth.

 

“You asking me that? I’m not the one who needed to go to the doc.” Len doesn’t know when _his_ hands moved to hover over Mick’s cheeks, but in the end he gives up to this need he feels to check Mick’s fine himself, and gently touches the bruises. Not even a hint of pain.

 

“I’m good, Lenny.” One last squeeze and he lets go of Len, seeming to realize how close they’d gotten in the low light of the cell at night. “Also I got top bunk.” He pushes himself up to the top bunk and Len closes his eyes for a second while he breathes deeply, in and out. Then he moves to the bottom bunk and reflects on the fact that, whether he wants to admit it or not, Mick’s somehow carved himself a space in the small group of people Len cares about.

 

 

2.

 

It was the first job he planned. It was only him and Mick, they trusted each other, each knew their role perfectly, and he needed it to _work_. It was the ultimate proof that he was better than his father, that life was going to get better. Of course, it all went to hell.

 

The security system had been updated, the guard shifts had been changed. It almost seemed like the job had been deliberately sabotaged. The only positive thing about the night is that despite all those hurdles they hadn’t been caught.

 

Len sat on the floor with his back to the wall, in the room he’d claimed as his own in the defunct apartment they’d been squatting in for the past month. A month of planning every day, barely sleeping, and for what? He could feel the beginnings of a tension headache, and he rubbed with the heel of his palm between his eyes to stave it off. 

 

Suddenly Mick was there, in his space, silent as he shouldn’t be for a man as big as him. Len almost, _almost_ , shouted at him about privacy, and personal spaces, and fucking _knocking_ on someone’s door before entering a room, but. But, he wasn’t sure he wanted him gone.

 

Mick crouched down so he was at his level, and then his hand came up to brush against his hair. He needed to cut it again. It only lasted a moment, and he missed it as soon as it was gone.

 

“I got something before we had to cut it,” Mick said. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, and Len thought he must look worse than he felt for Mick to react that way. He must look _weak_. 

 

He couldn’t stand the careful look on Mick’s eyes, so he let his head hung. Mick picked himself up from the floor without another word, but before he went he left something in Len’s hand.

 

Alone again, Len looked at the silver band. It was warm, like Mick’d been fiddling with it before he gave it to him. He tried it on his thumb and it fit perfectly. He took it off again and put it in his pocket.

 

It would be a reminder. Of the things he’d done wrong, and most importantly, of the things he was doing this for. Next time, he’d get Mick a proper score. Next time he’d be better.

 

 

3.

 

Len knew his life was more dangerous than the average life, okay? He watched TV. Still, when he thought about the most terrifying thing to ever happen to him he was sure nothing could top this moment.

 

The smoke clouded his vision and made it so hard to breathe he was starting to get light-headed. Flames licked his jeans when he ran inside the building, against his most primal survival instincts. But he had to. 

 

The smoke was so thick he ran against Mick without seeing him. That seemed to bring him out of the trance he was in though, so Len counted it as a win. His legs were starting to give out, not enough clear air and running on adrenaline for too long, so he grabbed him by the arm and started for the doors. 

 

They came out barely able to stand, supporting each other, pulling the other up when he seemed about to fall. Len took in Mick’s face, wild eyes and soot covered skin, but without any apparent serious burns.

 

They made it to their getaway car and got in, Len starting it with shaky hands. He didn’t enjoy driving on a good day, that night he didn’t even bother to get to the motel they were staying in. He drove three blocks until they’d be out of the cordoned zone the police’d put up once they got to the scene and parked. 

 

He looked at Mick, who had his eyes closed and seemed to be mouthing the word _sorry_ over and over again. Len didn’t think he could speak either. In the overhead light Mick looked worse. As was beginning to be a habit, Len brought his hands up to Mick’s head, but they stayed hovering, not quite daring to touch the raw, reddened skin. 

 

It suddenly hit him what a close call this had been, and he clutched at Mick’s shoulders, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the nauseating smell of burnt flesh. They stayed there a while, shaking together, until the sirens reminded them of how incriminating their appearance was and how close to the scene they still were. 

 

Len let go of Mick, taking a few calming breaths before starting up the car again. He drove carefully out of town, under the speed limit, and rebuilt the walls of his cold facade that had melted in the heat.

 

 

4.  


 

He hadn’t seen Mick in months. It happened, they weren’t the most adjusted of people, they needed a break from each other once in a while.

 

Mardon broke him out of prison for a revenge scheme he had no intention of participating in, but he was still out. After the zero privacy of a prison cell he welcomed the silence of his apartment.

 

It didn’t last long.

 

He heard the key on the lock and sat up were he’d been resting on the sofa. Mick came in, kicking the door shut but leaving the lights off. He made his way to Len before sitting down next to him.

 

“Heard you got out.” Len hummed his agreement. “You okay?”

 

Len lifted his head and looked Mick in the eye.

 

“The old bastard’s dead.”

 

 _Yeah_ , mouthed Mick. “That’s a good thing.” Mick’s hand came to Len’s cheek, warm as always, soft like ever since the fire gave him third degree burns. “Hey Lenny, you hear me? That’s a good thing.”

 

Len hummed again, letting his eyes close and his head fall on Mick’s shoulder. After a beat Mick’s other hand joined the first stroking Len’s head, the short strands grey now, when the first time they’d done this had been black. 

 

Mick got more comfortable on the couch, bringing Len with him. He knew they wouldn’t move for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://maqqneto.tumblr.com/)


End file.
